


Tease

by QueenForADay



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Anal Sex, And Jaskier Doesn't Know What To Do With That, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Edging, Established Relationship, Except Bitch About It Of Course, Explicit Sexual Content, Geralt of Rivia is a Tease, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Not Beta Read, Sex, Sexual Content, Shameless Smut, Smut, Swearing, Teasing, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:21:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22452589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenForADay/pseuds/QueenForADay
Summary: Geralt Rivia is a piece of shit.Jaskier makes some allowances for the man. He very much appreciates all the times where Geralt has saved his arse. But to be perfectly honest, it’s an arse worth saving, thank you very much. Even though it’s only been a year since Geralt got roped into Jaskier’s services, at the behest of his father, he has gathered quite the resume. He’s become Jaskier’s shadow, always hovering just behind him, just in case over-enthusiastic fans get a bit too close, or when someone who doesn’t particularly like him, his music, or his “lifestyle” gets an idea in their head.But, right now, at this very moment in time, Geralt Rivia is a piece of shit.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 32
Kudos: 913





	Tease

Geralt Rivia is a piece of shit.

Jaskier makes some allowances for the man. He very much appreciates all the times where Geralt has saved his arse. But to be perfectly honest, it’s an arse worth saving, thank you very much. Even though it’s only been a year since Geralt got roped into Jaskier’s services, at the behest of his father, he has gathered quite the resume. He’s become Jaskier’s shadow, always hovering just behind him, just in case over-enthusiastic fans get a bit too close, or when someone who doesn’t particularly like him, his music, or his “ _lifestyle_ ” gets an idea in their head.

But, right now, at this very moment in time, _Geralt is a piece of shit_.

And Jaskier says as much, growling it into Geralt’s face; and the man has the fucking nerve to _laugh_ back at him. If he had the use of his hands, Jaskier would deck him right in the jaw. He’d shatter his fist, he’s sure of it. And then Geralt would have to drive him to the E.R. But at least Jaskier would get a hit in.

Instead, he’s pinned to the bed by Geralt’s weight on top of him. His hands are held firmly over his head and his legs are hooked around Geralt’s hips. Their clothes are long gone, scattered throughout the hotel room and forgotten about. Geralt has been moving with and fucking into him for a _while_. And it isn’t fair that the other man can still look so put together.

“If you really hate me that much,” Geralt breathes, rolling his hips again, “I guess I’ll leave.”

Jaskier lifts his head from his pillow, desperately trying to catch the man’s lips in his own; but Geralt pulls back slightly, evading him. Jaskier snarls. “If you leave, I’ll fucking kill you.”

Geralt laughs again, burying it into Jaskier’s neck. The other man can feel the hot puff of air, quickly turned into the wet press of lips against the column of his neck. They trail down towards his shoulder. Jaskier tilts his head. “I’ll make it look like a goddamn accident,” Jaskier breathes. “I know people.” Teeth suddenly graze and nip against his skin. He arches at it, because at least it’s something, and it sends a shiver right down through his body. It’s not what he wants, of course. What he _wants_ is for Geralt to let him come and they can call it a fucking night. He loves the man, really he does. And what he can do to Jaskier and how he can make everything he touches light on fire. But this is getting ridiculous.

Despite all of it though, Geralt keeps moving. His hips move in long, deep thrusts, his cock hitting that spot inside Jaskier making the edges of his vision blur slightly. But it’s not enough. And it’s been going on for so long he’s lost all trace of time. It could be midnight. It could be six in the morning. The world outside could have caught fire and imploded on itself. He doesn’t know anymore. And quite frankly, he doesn’t give a shit.

Geralt moves slightly, gather both of Jaskier’s hands in one of his – and it’s just _not fair_ how the other man can manage that – and his other hand skims down Jaskier’s bare side. “Tell me, my songbird,” Geralt says against Jaskier’s collarbone, “how long do you think you could keep going?”

Jaskier makes a sound in the back of his throat. “How, fuck. How long has it been already?” Because he’s been near the edge...a lot. He can’t think of how many times he’s been hurtling towards it, ready to come, and Geralt does _something_ to yank him back from it. And it’s just rude.

And it’s not to say that Jaskier _hasn’t_ played his own games. He set an ankle against the small of Geralt’s back. He’s tightened up around the man, wanting him to be just as affected as he is. When Jaskier had the use of his hands, he dragged his nails across Geralt’s shoulders. That’s probably why he lost his hands, now that he thinks back on it.

Geralt laughs breathlessly. “Could I keep you like this, I wonder?”

“Geralt, please, I think I’ll die,” Jaskier moans at a particularly well-placed thrust. “My heart might just give out. And then you’re going to have to call paramedics and my dad and tell them what happened and this is _not_ how I want to die, I swear to God-”

“-Don’t mention your dad when I’m fucking you,” Geralt nips at his collarbone.

“Please just,” Jaskier moans, “please let me come. I’ll do anything. Please, for fuck sake Geralt.”

Geralt sits back. A sharp coldness nips at Jaskier’s bared front, but he makes a noise at Geralt wrapping his arms around Jaskier’s legs and hauling him closer. It gets Geralt deeper into him, and _fuck_ , he’s starting to get close again. “You’ll do anything?” Geralt’s smirk is lopsided, lazy.

“Well,” Jaskier tilts his head. He wants to finish his sentence, assuring that man that maybe _not anything-anything_ , because Geralt’s mind is a fucked up place, but Geralt’s hips snap forward, and all thought leaves Jaskier’s mind.

It’s good. It’s always good with Geralt. From the first time they slept together to now, he fully believes that Geralt came into his life just _knowing_ what to do with Jaskier’s body. Broad hands hold on to his waist, helping Jaskier move in time with Geralt’s trusts.

With his hands free, Jaskier lets one travel down to his neglected cock. The poor thing red and leaking and being forgotten about for the past _however long_ it’s been. He barely has his fingers around it before Geralt growls deep in his chest. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

Jaskier whines. “I need to come, you bastard.” If he had any limberness with his body, he’d draw back his leg from where it’s splayed out to one side and just kick Geralt in the face. The man’s been wearing a stupid smug smirk for far too long in Jaskier’s opinion. One that can only be gotten rid of by a firm, swift kick to the mouth.

But one of Geralt’s hands leaves the divots of Jaskier’s hips. His fingers skim along the expanse of his middle, ghosting over his skin. Geralt hums. His skin is damp with sweat. The acrid scent of it mixes with the musk of sex and the faint trace of lube, the smell of it coats the top of Jaskier’s mouth.

Then Geralt moves. Arranging Jaskier’s legs firmly around his hips, and gathering the other man in his arms, Geralt flips them. A groan is punched straight out of Jaskier’s gut at the movement. Settling on top of Geralt, it only gets him deeper into Jaskier’s body. “Oh fuck,” he gasps, reaching out and settling a hand on the middle of Geralt’s chest.

Beneath his palm, he can feel Geralt’s heart beating. It’s not normal how controlled and steady it is; Jaskier is trembling, for God’s sake. All ability to say anything other than _fuck_ , _shit_ , or _move_ leaves him. Geralt’s hands go to his hips again. There’ll be marks in the morning. Even if there isn’t, on that slim chance, then Jaskier is going to still have a hard time walking; a slight issue when he has to go from news station to station, giving interviews on his newest EP.

“You want to come, songbird?” Geralt sighs, settling his head back against the mound of pillows pushed up against the headboard. Splayed out on the bed, with his hair falling out of its usual tie, he’s only _now_ starting to look wrecked. Jaskier can only imagine what he looks like.

He nods.

Geralt squeezes his hips. “Then get to it.”

And it takes a moment for Jaskier’s brain to register what it is the other man has said to him. If he’s being completely honest, he’s still getting used to the new position he finds himself in. Staring down at Geralt, Jaskier blinks, nods, and rocks his hips. Geralt’s hands simply hold him, guiding his hips as he grinds himself against the other man. And it’s good. How good they can be together is laced through quite a few songs of his. Geralt only managed to pick up on a few of them. God, if he knew what Jaskier _wanted_ to do, he’d have killed him long ago.

Jaskier puts one hand beside Geralt’s head. His fingers twist the cushion with every bolt of pleasure that shoots up through his core and throughout the rest of his body. One of Geralt’s hands leaves his hip. Before he can whine at the loss, his breath catches in his throat when Geralt reaches out to hold Jaskier’s arm. His fingers almost meet around his wrist.

When he comes, _fucking finally_ , he’s pretty sure his spirit leaves his body for a moment. He curls around Geralt’s front, burying a harsh groan into the man’s neck. Distantly, he’s aware of Geralt’s hips continuing to chase his own release. Warmth floods Jaskier as he relaxes into the body below him.

A couple of minutes pass. The only sounds in the room are their joined regaining of breath and a constant ticking of a clock somewhere. Jaskier turns his head to bury his nose into the join of Geralt’s neck and shoulder. He can feel the other man’s pulse; it’s quickened from its usual pace, but it’ll be back to normal in a couple of minutes.

Geralt eventually pats Jaskier’s hip. “Get off,” he grunts. When it becomes apparent that Jaskier isn’t going to be moving of his own accord any time soon, Geralt moves him; moving the man off and essentially _dumping_ his body to Geralt’s side.

“You’ve killed me,” Jaskier mumbles into the pillow. “I don’t think I can move. I’m dead."

Geralt snorts, slipping off of the bed to pad over to the bathroom. Jaskier doesn’t have the energy in any part of his body to move, but his ears twitch at the sound of running water from the bathroom. With as much muster as he can manage, he turns his head around, just in time to see a very much still naked Geralt step back into the room. The other man cleans them both, dropping the cloth somewhere by the edge of the bed.

Geralt has barely gotten on the bed before a body joins his side, tugging and manoeuvring him to lie down. “Thought you said you couldn’t move,” Geralt rumbles. Still, when he settles, his arm coils around Jaskier’s shoulders, tugging him closer until the other man is plastered against his side.

Jaskier pillows his head on Geralt’s shoulder. He slings an arm across the expanse of the man’s middle. “I’m still a young man,” he says, slapping his hand half-heartedly against Geralt’s side. “Just...gimme a few seconds.”

Geralt snorts. With his free arm, he gathers some of the sheets from the foot of the bed, kicked down there at some point during the night. He drags them up and lays them over both of their bare bodies. The sweat speckled over both of them is starting to cool now. When he settles his head back against one of the many pillows stacked and arranged behind him against the headboard, he can feel the telltale deep, rhythmic breathing of Jaskier’s against his collarbone. Peering down at the other man, a soft smile ghosts his lips when he sees Jaskier asleep.

He trails his fingers down the knobs of Jaskier’s spine. “Goodnight,” he says quietly, pressing a chaste, but firm, kiss to the man’s crown, before letting sleep wash over him too.

**Author's Note:**

> yourqueenforayear.tumblr.com (personal ramblings and other nonsense) | agoodgoddamnshot.tumblr.com (writing)
> 
> Did I write this in an afternoon in some sort of conscious fever-dream while horrifically depressed and roaring The Oh Hello lyrics to try and fix it? Yes. Yes, I did. We're all good now!
> 
> [In other news, Joey Batey has a new post on Instagram and I didn't know what to do with myself for a second. We do have a type apparently, and it's singers with floppy, messy hair, who can be silly and goofy and nerdy, just chilling in a forest with some fae-aura around them.]
> 
> Kudos & Comments gladly appreciated!


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